


ShadowDance

by Gracesgirl



Category: Carol (2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25594282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gracesgirl/pseuds/Gracesgirl
Summary: Carol and Therese face a heartbreaking possibility that threatens the survival of their relationship.
Relationships: Carol Aird/Therese Belivet
Comments: 139
Kudos: 83





	1. Journal Entry #1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I posted. For those of you who may be new readers, these characters had their genesis in my very first story. I care very deeply for them.

I’m not particularly proud of what I’m going to tell you. You will hear about so much bad behavior; so many poor decisions made by both Carol and me. Sr. Alicia tells me to try to forgive myself. I’m supposed to look back on these events and hold myself with compassion, to realize I was doing the best I could under the circumstances. “Therese, you can only ever respond from the knowledge and healing you have in any given moment!”

But you know Sr. Alicia. The woman exudes peace and forgiveness and has somehow managed to figure out how to forgive herself for all her mistakes, as well as everyone else. When I talk to her now, she is so joyful! “But Therese, darling, of course all of this had to happen. If you love someone deeply enough, of course your wounds will be exposed. And now, (I could hear her clap with satisfaction through the phone) both you and Carol can break through these blockages! You can learn to love each other more freely now! Praise the Lord!”

God bless Sr. Alicia. God bless her for always praying, for always being hopeful. At the moment, I am neither hopeful nor excited nor prayerful. I feel so ashamed, so pathetic. To be honest, I can’t even believe I’m going to tell you all this. I wouldn’t, typically. But Sr. Alicia said journaling can be therapeutic. And heaven knows, I’ve spent enough of my life surrounded by Catholic nuns to know that confession can be exculpatory.

Here’s the thing: I’m a photographer. My entire professional life thus far has consisted of watching, looking, being still. Seeing. Perceiving. How is it that I can’t see myself? How is it that I can’t catch on to what I’m doing, or if I do, it’s not until it’s too late? And how is it that even if I don’t want to be doing something, I do it anyway? It’s embarrassing!

But let me tell you how this all started. I suppose it goes back to the beginning of our relationship and that whole mess with Harge and Rindy. It was unconscionable, the way she lost custody. The way he took her child away. The way the lawyers and society screwed her over. The way it still screws us both over, simply because we’re women who love each other.

Carol has been amazing. Over the years, she has actually gotten to a place of civility with him when he brings Rindy for her visits. She is cordial, sometimes genuinely kind to the man. This despite the fact that it breaks her heart each time Rindy leaves.

It’s always hovering somewhere in the background. And then a visit ends, and there’s a hole, an emptiness that gnaws at her like a toothache. If Carol has an Achilles heel, it’s Rindy. She rarely smokes anymore, but if she does, it’s when Rindy leaves. One time, we shared a cigarette on our balcony just after a weekend with her. At one point, Carol looked at me and I could see the tears on her cheeks through the blue, smoky haze. It broke my heart. Her beauty can still make me catch my breath, and in that moment, it was beauty shrouded in tragedy. It was like Bogey and Becall and "Casablanca” in some ways. I just ached for her. And she shook her head so sadly, and whispered, “That child! She’s my greatest joy, Therese. And my deepest wound.” It was terrible.

Anyhow, this all started when Harge confided that his company was thinking of transferring him to their Florida office. He didn’t know for sure if this was their plan, but he wanted Carol to know he had no intention of finding another job. And if he moved, he would be taking Rindy with him.

I can only see this in retrospect, but in that very moment we both began to unravel. All I seem to remember is the stricken look in Carol’s eyes, the way her jaw muscles tightened so visibly. And the way I tightened too, warding off a vague sense of danger. I could almost hear a bell ring with this mournful, funereal sound that made me shiver. I had the clear sense that this issue would be our crucible, and an unclear sense of whether we would survive.

We had lost our present moment. Now, we both began to live from our wounds.


	2. Too Many Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.  
> Don't go back asleep...  
> People are going back and forth across the doorsill  
> where the two worlds touch.  
> The door is round and open.  
> Don't go back asleep.
> 
> Jalaluddin Rumi

Elaine Hartsell sat on the sofa on this rainy, damp summer morning letting her words come freely, as one did with a trusted friend. “Honestly, sometimes I just cringe. It takes me forever to get going in the morning! What would Maggie say? If I’m honest, it’s not that grief over her death has me so immobilized anymore.” She sighed, as she felt she always would when mentioning her beloved partner’s name. “Yes, I will always miss her dearly. But this—” She shook her head, scratching lightly at the top of her head, haloed with attractive, silver-white hair. “I think this could just be laziness, or old age, or complete lack of focus.” She gestured with a wave of a hand. “Look at us! It’s going on eleven o’clock and we’re still lounging around!”

Sparky gave a low growl from somewhere deep in his chest without moving his huge head. Her dog’s baritone response was so timely that Elaine laughed. “What, buddy? You don’t like me lumping you in with lazy me?”

In the next instant, the Newfoundland emitted a ferocious bark, loud enough that the woman was first startled and then irritated. “Sparky! What in the world—” But the mountain of a dog only barked again, and now his head was up, coal black eyes alert as he looked toward the door. Another bark, and Sparky shot from the sofa with surprising agility, running through the kitchen to the back hallway, where he planted two huge paws on the windowsill so he could see outside. Once again, he barked.

Elaine trailed quickly behind, wondering if her pet had heard a buck making its way through the thick copse of pines that bordered her property, though how he could hear anything but the rain bulleting the roof was truly astonishing. It was raining so hard that when she looked out the window, it was all Elaine could see, with perhaps just a glimpse of the dark trees far in the distance. The woman stroked her dog’s head in a kindly manner as she had probably done a thousand times, her fingers sinking into the mass of black fur to offer reassurance, but finding comfort there, too.

“Listen pal, you are just the _best boy_ for looking out after us, but I think this time it’s a false alarm,” she murmured, dropping a kiss just above Sparky’s eyes. She chuckled. “Although you did manage to get this old body off the couch, didn’t you?” Now, the Newfie let go a cascade of thunderous barks, just as Elaine lay eyes on the figure of a man or woman struggling their way through the storm.

“Who in the world?” Maybe it was the storm, maybe her advancing age, but the feeling that came first was alarm. “Oh, my. I can’t imagine who…” Her thoughts began to race. It was at moments like this that she missed Maggie the most. The vulnerability of being so alone---as well as uncertain and even afraid—so very often drained her of every ounce of energy. Even her massive Sparky didn’t quite take the sting away. 

However, just now the dog was still barking, and this jolted Elaine from her inertia. _Should I get the .22 just in case?_ She had a strong dislike for guns, but Maggie had talked her into it before she died, going so far as to enlist the help of a neighbor to help them buy the small rifle, then teach Elaine to handle it safely and shoot competently. _Oh, okay, okay._ Quickly, she moved to her left, unlocked a bottom cupboard, and grabbed the weapon, one eye on the emerging figure that was slowly coming into focus.

With her attention on loading the rifle so concentrated, Elaine failed to notice the point at which Sparky’s threatening barks turned to silence, then whimpers of anticipation. She lifted her head from her task, shoulders squared. The woman seemed to comprehend Sparky’s changed state at the very same instant she could finally see the struggling visitor clearly. She shook her head, feet planted still with shock and disbelief.

“Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Therese? Therese?” Panic and fear were overwhelmed by a pulsating concern that brought Elaine’s heartbeat to her throat. She threw open the door, rain gusting in as Sparky shot out like a ball of hairy black thunder, barking his wild greetings. Bursting out into the storm, Elaine shouted, “Therese? Therese, darling? Oh, darling girl! Oh! Oh!”

Therese had dropped to the sand, as if the amount of water her clothing had absorbed had pulled her down, too exhausted and perhaps too relieved to take another step just now. Elaine shook her head, dismissing any questions, lowering her old, chilled body until she could see her young friend’s face. Therese was pale white, except her lips which seemed slightly blue. There were dark, crescent moon circles under her eyes and her usually silky hair was plastered to her face like spikes of wet, black paint. Her hands were icy cold, so much so that the older woman was quickly yanking her to her feet. 

“Let’s go, dear. _Now._ Let’s get you out of this rain. Come on, up!” Therese hadn’t said a word, allowing herself to be hoisted from the cold ground, seemingly unaware of Sparky, who barked with excitement still, prancing in circles as the women made their way to the door as if in the throes of an ancient, canine welcome ritual.

Reaching the door, Elaine pushed her dog aside with an ample hip. “Come on, Sparks. Good boy! Out of the way now as we get Therese inside. One, two more steps. There we go,” Elaine directed, speaking now to the cold and stiff young woman with calm reassurance. She tried to push away the impinging thoughts. _What in the world is going on? Why had Therese come, and in this horrendous state? Where the hell was Carol? Should she be called immediately? Should I call Alicia_?

The silver-haired woman was flummoxed, but all this had to wait. Therese sat so still it frightened her. “Right. Okay. Now honey, let’s get this wet jacket off you, and those shoes. Can you help at all? We’ll get a hot bath drawn right away, get you warmed up and comfortable.” Her motions were economical; the soaked clothing was removed with gentle competence. Unnervingly, the younger woman neither assisted nor objected. 

As the washer and dryer were in the home’s back hallway, Elaine took off all but Therese’s underclothes, leaving them in a sopping heap on the floor. She reached to grab the tea kettle and start the flame beneath it before taking Therese by the hand. “Come on, darling, this way. I’m sure you don’t want to be sitting around in your underwear, do you?” She glanced at Sparky, and her heart spilled over with love at the sight of the Newfoundland, dripping wet and standing at attention with concern in the depths of his soulful eyes. “Sparky’s worried about his friend, too, see that? He wants you nice and warm.”

In the bathroom, Elaine immediately got the hot water going in the tub, adding a few drops of rose-scented bath oil—Maggie’s favorite—and pulling clean, fluffy bath towels from the linen cupboard. As steam began to fill the small room, it seemed to breathe life into Therese, slowly. The thin young woman began moving on her own, warmed even by the sight of the bath after her long, long walk through the storm. She reached out an arm to touch Elaine’s back.

“Thank you.” Her voice was solemn. “Thank you, Elaine,” Therese repeated quietly, with as much dignity as she could muster as she stood naked but for her undergarments. She waved a hand, trying to say something more, but it fluttered to back to her side like a lost, flailing bird. “I know this must look…well, I don’t know how it looks,” she faltered, dropping emerald eyes that seemed ghosted by shame.

The older woman laid a gentle hand on Therese’s forearm. “Not yet, dear. We’ll talk after your bath is finished.” She pointed to the back of the door. “There’s my robe for you to put on. I just laundered it. And while you’re in there I’ll rummage up some clean underwear, although heaven knows you’re going to swim in them!” Her smile was rueful but genuine, and the younger woman was reminded of Elaine’s goodness, her authenticity, her grace. 

At the door, she turned back. “Therese…you do want me to call Carol, don’t you? She’ll be worried sick about you.”

The response was succinct, quick, and pained. “No!” Therese shook her head, eyes pleading. “Please, no. She won’t—I can’t—” Her slender shoulders sagged. “Just not now.”

_I soaked in Elaine’s tub, grateful for the hot water. The heat seeped in slowly, defrosting all the places so frozen by the long walk from the train station in that godawful storm. I wasn’t even sure how I’d arrived at Elaine’s. I hadn’t planned on coming here; I suppose I just knew Dannie was out of town and I couldn’t walk all the way to Albany to see Alicia. I can’t tell you how I really felt. Anger, guilt, shame, helplessness, so much fear—they were all in the mix. Truthfully, I was just an emotional mess. Selfishly, Carol was not my first concern. I’d left at 2 a.m. and she still wasn’t home. Lately, she’d been going out after work, sometimes with Abby, sometimes with some of our other friends. I was always asleep when she arrived home._

_All I can tell you is that while I soaked in the hot water, I felt out of danger. I know that doesn’t make much sense. It’s not like working at the Times exposed me to mayhem, and Carol certainly wasn’t going to physically harm me. (Incidentally, I could swear I saw a rifle of some sort propped up against the wall in Elaine’s kitchen. Is that even possible?) All I know is that I needed safety more than anything, and I didn’t want to leave the warm confines of Elaine’s bathtub._

_I stayed there for a very long time. Maybe my eyes were closed against the world, against my life with Carol, against my roiling feelings. But I felt safe. For the moment, that’s all that mattered._

Elaine had put on dry clothes and run a towel through her short hair. She paused in the act of combing it, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her deep blue eyes were filled with grave concern, the heaviness of a worry she felt deep in her gut. A sigh escaped her. She took a shaky breath, then turned to walk back to the living room where she intended to build a fire and dry dear Sparky.

The huge, damp dog waited for her dutifully on the kitchen linoleum, still dripping. She rushed to him, her heart spilling over. As she rubbed at the wet fur, Sparky waited patiently, seemingly knowing that Elaine needed him to be a good boy at this time. Calmed by his measured breathing, the woman began to confide.

“Sparky, boy,” she whispered, “I’m a bit lost at the moment.” She sat back on her haunches, seeking out the dark depths of the dog’s consoling eyes. There was patience there, and understanding, and a strength she needed badly. “I’ve been praying ever since I saw Therese, and I really, really want to call Carol! And then Alicia!” Closing her eyes, Elaine could almost see her thoughts racing. She saw Maggie’s beloved face, too, which gave her strength, but no answers.

“What should I do?” she implored, to her dear dog, who still stood patiently still, his warm breath on her cheek. “Should I call Carol? Should I call Alicia?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must tell you I have no idea where this is all headed yet. This hasn't changed for me...I seem to write only as my characters reveal their secrets.  
> So, off we go!
> 
> Thank you for reading. Wrapping you in warm hands filled with peace.


	3. The Great Expanse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek her whom my soul loves.   
> I sought her, but found her not.  
> Song of Solomon 3:2
> 
> (with artistic changes to suit story line)

Abby Gerhart’s hazel eyes narrowed as she watched Carol light a cigarette. It was late morning and she’d noticed her best friend had been smoking incessantly since their workday began. She also could read the signs of agitation in Carol—caged, restless energy, elegant fingers that held her steaming cup of coffee with a white-knuckled grip, and blue gray eyes that darted about in an erratic beat. Abby took a measured breath, eyeing the other woman with concern and wariness.

“You’re smoking like a chimney.” The blunt comment was characteristic of both Abby’s no-nonsense personality and the women’s longstanding friendship. Now, she watched Carol’s jaw tighten almost imperceptibly, the proud tilt of chin as she raised her eyes.

“And?” Carol challenged, her throaty voice tight, clipped.

_She’s probably going to bite my head off._ “And I know you, Carol,” came the brusque reply. “You’re so tightly wound I’m surprised sparks aren’t flying from your heels.” She paused, then pushed through her hesitation. “So, what gives?”

The beautiful blond looked for an ashtray, then snuffed out her cigarette. “Do you mean, what gives now that Harge wants to take Rindy out of state, or what gives now that I haven’t been able to reach Therese since speaking with her before I left last night?” She was angry, but Abby could hear a quiver of worry in her friend’s voice.

“I thought you called her last night when you decided to stay at my place,” Abby noted, feeling the slightest twinge of concern. 

“I did! But we got to your place so late and she didn’t answer. I wasn’t surprised, even though I tried several times.” She paused for a sip of coffee, trying to find something to soothe her uneasiness. “I knew I could reach her before she left for work, but she didn’t answer at home, and she’s not at her desk at the _Times.”_ She expelled a frustrated breath. “I left a message, but…” Closing her eyes, Carol admitted her worry to herself. She would have driven home, but not after that last drink. And Abby’s place was just so close to the theater, it was surely wiser to stay there. But none of these thoughts allayed the growing concern, nor the dark clouds she felt gathering in her inner landscape. _Therese, where the hell are you? Why can’t I reach you?_

Abby lifted a strand of smooth, auburn hair off her forehead, troubled at the situation. She cleared her throat. “And you did tell her our plans for the night before you left? She was clear?” The other woman shot her a withering glance. “Of course, I did, Abigail! _Jesus!”_ Carol’s hands flailed in the air and her words were punctuated with aggravation.“What kind of relationship do you think we have?”

“Lately, a troubled one, whether you talk about it or not.” Abby was irritated. “But that’s besides the point at the moment.” She looked around the small office in which they sat, feeling its close, cramped confines start to seep from her pores. Standing with an abruptness that startled the edgy Carol, she said, “Look, why don’t you catch a cab and just go find Therese at work? Or at least find out if she’s not calling you back because she’s out on assignment somewhere? We’ll both feel much better when you have a chance to talk with her. And I can certainly hold down the store on my own. Or close for the afternoon if you need me at some point.”

Carol set her shoulders, then stood. Her throat felt tight, and she didn’t quite trust herself to speak. She nodded instead, then turned to follow Abby from the office. Graceful, strong, purposeful, proud. A lioness, thought Abby, as she watched Carol let herself out onto Manhattan’s steamy sidewalks. Fierce pride, fierce love.

__________________________________

The taxi made its way through the sea of people and cars, starts and stops and throngs and a thrumming energy that seemed to propel both the vehicle and its driver, a husky, dark-haired man with an Italian accent. He could be playing a role in a Hollywood film that would have amused Carol if she had been paying attention.

But she sat in the back seat, long legs crossed, hips tilted, the slender arc of her neck accentuating her profile. She gazed steadily out the window, watching the mass of New Yorkers coming and going in their perpetual hurried state. There was an almost tragic quality to her beauty, a haunted look in her eyes as she hoped for a sight of Therese. Here, there, somewhere… _where are you, Therese?_

She sighed. The last month or so had been difficult for them. It hadn’t started out that way. Carol had shared the news that Harge may be asked to move for work and planned to take Rindy with him. They had received the news as a united front—against Harge. The angry responses flowed freely:

“Fuck no, he’s not!” 

“Over my dead body!”

“We’ll fight this, Carol, all the way to court!”

“I’ll support you no matter what!”

“My god, I just want to take him out! No Harge, no issue!”

These were empowering, mobilizing, energizing, and now and then, full of dark humor. And then— _what had happened?_ Carol’s forehead creased and she shook her head. Somewhere along the way a disengagement had occurred. One of them had taken the first step backward, and then the other had responded likewise, and then the other, and then the other…leaving them here. A place where she kept going out with their friends and drinking, and Therese declined the invitations to come and instead stayed home to read and pet Benny. The younger woman was often sound asleep by the time Carol returned home, and she shot off to work after they’d shared only the most cursory conversation.

Carol rubbed at her temples, wondering at the vague sense of nostalgia and helplessness that had been washing over her lately, sucking something elemental out to sea with its undertow. She was slipping more deeply into the sand, and—

“Here you go, miss!” The cabbie’s voice announced their arrival, and Carol felt her nerves plucked in the most annoying way. She paid him, adding a handsome tip, and stepped out into the heat. It came in waves, even at this relatively early time of day, causing a swelling lassitude that was at distinct odds with her hammering pulse. 

_God, what if something terrible has happened to her? What will I do? Fuck Harge!_ _None_ _of this_ _would even be happening if not for him_! Carol walked quickly, her long legs striding through space, heels clicking on the polished floor of the lobby, into the elevator, up to the third floor, and straight to the reception desk at the _Times._ She stood there, a statuesque beauty in a form fitting pale blue skirt and sleeveless white blouse, peering down at the suddenly wide-eyed, young woman who sat there.

“Welcome, m’am. How may I assist you?”

“I’m a friend of one of your photographers, Ms. Belivet. May I speak with her, please?” As the receptionist called back for Therese, Carol examined her skirt, smoothing imaginary wrinkles in the flawless linen. _I’m so much more than her friend, and I’m so tired of pretending. Of course, Therese is_ _here. I wonder what Rindy is doing today. Is this a day camp day?_

“M’am? Excuse me?” 

Carol turned her head upon hearing the receptionist clear her throat, seeing the questioning look in her green eyes. _Green eyes._ “I’m sorry; my mind wandered. And Ms. Belivet?” The young woman was shaking her head as she spoke. “She’s not at her desk, and the admin back there said Ms. Belivet didn’t come in today.” She smiled sweetly, somehow impossibly young and eager. “I can give you a note pad to leave a message for when she returns,” she added hopefully.

Carol shook her head, her silky blond hair brushing her cheek in a gentle wave. “No, thank you. I have her home number. I’ll try her there.” She nodded briskly. “Thank you. You’ve been quite helpful.” She turned for the elevators, aware her mouth had gone dry. _Not in? Called off? Is she home sick and just not_ _answering the phone? No, that doesn’t make any sense. I’ve called too many times! She wouldn’t ignore my calls. What if she’s fallen? And what about Benny?_

As soon as she departed the elevator, Carol headed for the restroom, her heels hammering in concert with her heart as she walked. Once there, she gazed in the mirror with a critical eye. Her cheeks were a bit too pink, hair somewhat untamed. Reaching into a leather handbag, she removed a comb, running it through the blond strands until they resembled a veil of silk. _Rindy has my hair, just more curls. Rindy._ The muscles in her jaw tightened. She smoothed a hand over her flat stomach, then reached into her bag for a cigarette. Lighting it, Carol took a drag, inhaling deeply. _Therese. I must get home to Therese!_ Two more puffs and she was out into the lobby, walking with command out to the streets of Manhattan, teeming with harried people in every direction.

There was a line of yellow taxis and she slid into the short queue, graceful but impatient. A tall, thin gentleman in pleated dress slacks with the requisite short-sleeved, white dress shirt and narrow tie noticed her immediately. When the taxi approached, he gave a rather humorous half-bow. “After you, miss,” he obliged with a nod. Carol responded with a nod and demure smile, folding her long frame into the vehicle. “Madison and sixty-sixth, please,” she stated, closing her eyes against the glare of the sun and the chaos of the city.

_Drive faster! I need to get home quickly. I need to find Therese! I need to talk to Abby. I wish I could have a phone in my bag. Hurry, please hurry._ Carol was usually perfectly fine with driving in New York’s pandemonium, but currently she thought she might vomit from the taxi’s abrupt stopping, turning, and accelerating. When the driver finally stopped near her apartment building, she tossed some bills over the seat and exited rapidly.

She hurried through the lobby, barely acknowledging the “Hello, Miss Aird,” offered by the gentleman at the lobby desk, who noted Carol’s vague wave and shrugged. As the elevator rose, Carol had an unexpected thought of Sr. Alicia who, she was certain, would be telling her to pray at the moment. But the best she could muster was a deep breath and heavenward glance as she lay her head back against the padded wall. It felt necessary, however brief.

She had her keys out as she approached the apartment door. Letting herself into the quiet apartment, she dropped her bag on the side table and kicked off her heels. A sheen of perspiration shone on her forehead; her heart pounded uncomfortably. “Where’s Benny?” She spoke aloud to herself, noting that the treasured little mutt hadn’t come charging into the room as he typically did upon hearing the door open. 

“Therese? Therese darling, are you here?” She moved with impatience and encroaching fear from room to room, with each step more certain that her partner was not home. “Benny?” No Therese; no Benny. “Sweetheart?” _She’s not here. Neither is Benny. God! Has she left me? No! Has she?_

Carol felt thunder roaring in her ears as she came into their bedroom. The room had a plush carpet and light periwinkle walls that always glowed with warmth when the late day sunshine slanted through the blinds, as if a slumbering inner flame had been ignited. The color choice had been mutual. Both Carol and Therese agreed that it invoked a calm, peaceful atmosphere and shone with its own light. But at the current moment, Carol was immune to peace, especially when she noticed the piece of notepaper that lay atop her pillow.

She approached with hesitant steps that were completely uncharacteristic to the graceful blond. Sitting on the side of the bed, she picked up the note and read:

_“Carol, as I’m sure you’re aware, things between us for the last month or so have been quite difficult and—disconnected? I know you are trying to sort through the issues with Harge and Rindy, but you are also rarely here in our home. You ask me to go out periodically, but the growing distance between us makes me dread the thought of being with you in a group or at an event._

_I’m not sure what’s going on with me, but I feel uneasy and almost frightened these last few days. Like the other shoe is going to drop. And I just need a little space to clear my head, to figure out what’s going on with me, with us…_

_I just need to THINK and talk things through with a friend._

_Sorry to leave you with Benny. I couldn’t take him with me, so he’s next door with Bonita. You know how much she loves him. She said she’ll watch him all day long if we need and promised the kids won’t strangle him._

_I’ll be in touch._

_T._

Carol sat holding the note, staring at Therese’s precise handwriting. Her soft hair fell on either side of her face, as if to create privacy around her, a misery booth for their relationship. She took a breath, trying to get around the sudden stitch in her side; to ease the tension she felt creeping up the back of her neck. Putting the piece of paper beside her, she reached for the bedside table. _A cigarette. Just one_ _cigarette._

As she expelled the first lungful of smoke, Carol reached for the phone. Her heart was beating almost painfully in her chest and the blue smoke stung her eyes. _Shit. Shit!_

The call rang through. “Abby? Can you come over?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm truly sorry this took a bit to write. I try but life keeps interrupting me.  
> I wish I had more time because it takes me away from Life As We Know It Now.  
> I hope you are all staying safe and healthy. For all of you who work on the front lines in this time of pandemic,  
> my prayers are with you daily. And as I type these words, I send warm and positive energies to anyone reading.  
> Peace to all.


	4. A Shadowed Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The door swings open.  
> you look in.  
> It's dark in there,  
> most likely spiders;  
> nothing you want.  
> You feel scared.  
> The door swings closed.
> 
> Margaret Atwood
> 
> I don't want to think of a place for you.  
> Speak to me from everywhere...  
> When I go toward you  
> it is with my whole life.
> 
> Ranier Maria Rilke

Therese left the bathroom dressed in an old pair of Maggie’s slacks, a flannel shirt, and a thick pair of socks. The clothing was all too big, and Elaine was disconcerted at the young woman’s almost waif-like appearance. What had happened to the Therese she’d gotten to know, the self-assured, confident, beaming young woman who so often came breezing into her home with a huge smile and vibrating energy that sent Sparky into frenzied excitement? Now, the Newfoundland stood next to his owner, his dark eyes peering at Therese as if searching for a hidden treasure.

At a loss for words, Elaine took a measured breath. “So, tell me dear, how are you now? Did the bath help? I’ve put your clothes in the wash.” She leaned forward, indicating the cup of steaming coffee and small plate that had been placed on the coffee table. “Here, drink this. And this is blueberry bread I made yesterday. Fresh berries from down the road.” The older woman slid it closer to her guest. “Please eat, Therese. Fill up your belly and keep that bread from my hips!” She smiled with tenderness, aware of her almost rambling speech.

Therese reached for the cup, and there was a slight tremor in her grip. She made a valiant attempt to make eye contact. “I’m kind of…I don’t know why…” A muscle in her jaw clenched, and she reached for Sparky. The dog moved immediately, burying his large head in her lap. With her hands deep in his thick, soft coat, the young woman shook her head.

“I’m so sorry to be like this.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Her hands flailed; Elaine imagined geese in an autumn sky. “I don’t know what to do…I don’t think she wants to be alone with me…I’m not sure where to be…” Her voice was fading, and the other woman watched Therese rub her abdomen. _Everything comes full circle_. She had turned alarmingly pale. It seemed to take a lifetime for her to speak again. “It was an awful trip, you know…” _Everything comes full circle._

Elaine nodded, her blue eyes understanding. “It must have been, dear. You arrived in a blinding thunderstorm. I thought the wind was going to blow the pines through the roof!”

Therese went on as if she hadn’t heard the woman speak, a hand still stroking her midsection. “It was freezing! And I was just so _lost…_ I woke up to _a note!”_ Tears filled her eyes, her look faraway. _Everything comes full circle_. “It was horrible, and I just wanted to sob, and I…” She swallowed with some difficulty. “I had to get out and vomit and it was so…so…” Sparky fidgeted at Therese’s feet, a whimper escaping him. He nudged her hand, licking once or twice, trying to comfort.

Elaine had grown tense. She felt alarm growing within, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled to attention. _What kind of trip did Therese just have? Had she been hurt? A note? Why? From whom?_ _Did I_ _miss something when she arrived? My God, had the child been robbed? Or…worse?_ Now her pulse quickened, and she felt herself wishing desperately for Maggie _._ Or Alicia. _They would know what to do._

“…so _terrible!_ ” Therese looked almost frantic now. “And she was just so silent, Elaine…not talking much, just chain smoking…” Her voice faded. Next to her on the sofa, the older woman was shaking her head, vacillating between fear and confusion. A log in the fireplace fell, startling her into speech. She scooted over and reached for Therese’s hand.

“Darling, I must tell you I’m frightened for you! And worried! Tell me, please—were you just robbed? Or attacked? And what note?” Elaine feared she had asked too many questions. The deep green eyes that held hers looked perplexed, and Therese’s dark, sculpted brows drew together as she considered her host’s words.

“Robbed?” She shook her head, and silky hair brushed against cool, pale cheeks. Her free hand moved against Sparky’s neck, and she looked down as if surprised to see the giant dog with the benevolent stare. Then her glance returned to Elaine. “No. No, I wasn’t attacked.” Her stomach groaned. “I wasn’t talking about now.” Another shake of her head, as if attempting to clear dark clouds. “I’m sorry, maybe it’s because I haven’t slept.” She looked embarrassed, and the other woman squeezed her hand to reassure her. “I was just remembering another time, I guess.” Her voice sounded shaken, subdued. Sparky licked her hand again, though he knew his mistress wouldn’t approve.

Elaine cleared her throat, feeling the tension ebb from her shoulders. “Well, I must say I’m a bit lost, darling. Do you want to tell me about it?” Her voice was tender and inviting. “I can listen rather well, you know.”

Therese nodded rather vaguely. “Oh, it’s something that happened a while ago, when Carol and I had first met. She left me…unexpectedly. It was very hard.” _Everything comes full circle_. She shuddered, amazed that her memories could still bring a chill. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought it up.” The shrug of her shoulders seemed tentative. 

“Well, whatever happened, perhaps it was a bit traumatic for you? For you to be thinking of it now?” Elaine spoke softly, her voice rich with understanding. “That can happen to all of us, honey,” she said, “and it’s certainly not something to apologize for!” A thought flashed painfully, grease to flame: all the times she’d stood in the hospital’s hallway, terrified to enter Maggie’s room _. I understand._

Therese didn’t seem consoled. “Last night…I didn’t feel safe. It sounds crazy. It’s just Carol…” Her voice faded, and a sigh escaped her dry lips. Looking toward the fire, she stared at the shooting flames with sad eyes. Sparky had laid down on top of her feet, and Therese found herself loving his weight, as if she were a ship hurtling on rough seas and the sturdy pup, her anchor.

“You’re afraid Carol will leave you? But why, Therese? What has changed between you?” Elaine saw a flash of anger, a hardening. She was afraid she had asked the wrong question.

“It’s Harge! He’s saying his company wants him to move to Florida, and if he goes, he’s taking Rindy.” She choked back tears. “And he’s just such an asshole, Elaine! How can he even think of doing such a thing? He knows how much Carol and Rindy love each other! How can he even think about it?” Now her eyes flooded, turning almost black. “I’m not sure if Carol’s distancing is her departure warning, or even if…” She paused, biting her lip. “Or even if I should just offer to leave.” Therese took her hand from Elaine’s, rubbing her temples, then kneading her neck where the muscles had seized. When she made eye contact, an almost poetically tragic look graced her lovely face.

“Wouldn’t that be loving, Elaine? To let her go, so she can be with her daughter. If this were you and Maggie—if Maggie were being kept from her daughter because of you—would you let her go?” Her eyes pleaded for wisdom, for answers. “You know, to—” She paused, struggling, “So the relationship isn’t standing in the way.” 

The older woman shook her head, troubled. _I have no idea._ A sudden wave of restlessness washed over her, and she leaned forward, reaching for the plate of bread. She busied herself buttering two slices, placing one on Therese’s plate. “We moved to the far reaches of Long Island so we could live more freely.” Elaine bit into the bread, the taste of blueberries exploding on her tongue. Sparky lumbered to his feet, looking at her with a hopeful expression. She smiled at her pet, consoled and strengthened.

“Maggie and I fought for our love, Therese,” Elaine stated as she fed her dog a small morsel. “But there was never a child involved.” Sparky’s lower jaw dropped; he smiled, his coal black eyes aglow with expectation. His owner leaned her head down, her short, silver-white hair in beautiful contrast to the Newfie’s mass of dark fur. “One is enough, buddy.”

Therese watched them, and a sudden, fierce ache filled her. She missed Carol. She missed their sweet mutt, Benny. She missed Rindy, and she didn’t know if they would all be together again. A sigh escaped her, and she closed her eyes against the pain. _Everything comes full circle._

Elaine watched her troubled young friend, leaning over to give her hand a tender caress. “Therese, you know you must talk this through with Carol, right? And have you spoken to Alicia lately? Does she have any words of wisdom for you?” The young woman’s tired green eyes widened almost comically.

“God, no!” she exclaimed. “I mean, she would only—” She stopped, shaking her head, clearly horrified. “Alicia will tell me to pray, Elaine, and this is not a time for praying! I never get any answers, and I have no idea who to pray to, or if anyone is listening.” 

Elaine gave a hearty laugh, amused at Therese’s stormy expression and utter lack of pretense. It was a hopeful burst of life that she found reassuring. And she completely understood her resistance. It always seemed that at the very worst times of her life, Elaine had been rendered incapable of prayer. But Alicia was her champion. And somehow, the Divine, too, though she could never say how and was prone to deny it.

“So, let me ask her to pray for you both, dear.” Elaine’s expression was pointed, her voice soft. “She would want to know this is happening, you know.” She watched Therese, whose face was expressionless, except for her sleepy eyes. _The child is exhausted._ “I think you might need a bit of a rest, yes? And I will call Carol, so she knows you’re safe and sound. And Alicia, so she knows to pray.”

________________________________________________

Sr. Alicia had wandered out to the gardens at Pace di Christo, unable to sit still in her room after speaking with Elaine. Now, settled on a stone bench under a Silver Linden, she tilted back her head while taking a deep breath of the densely scented, summer air. A light breeze was blowing her habit in gentle, pleasant ripples on her shoulders, and the old nun felt almost hypnotized by the gentle, repetitive swoosh. For just a few moments, she gave herself the gift of simply being present—to the sweet air, the rustling leaves, the coolness of the bench, the calls of the birds, and the plentiful bees, buzzing from bloom to bloom in their small but vitally heroic way.

She sighed. Elaine’s call was a surprise. But the news that Therese was struggling so badly was not. Of course, Alicia had known! It didn’t take a swami. She hadn’t heard from her in close to a month. This was the young woman’s pattern. Whenever faced with a serious or threatening issue, she backed away. Alicia was always able to sense Therese’s distance, and her fear. Fear of loss, fear of needs, fear of God, fear of her truth.

Ah, her precious Therese, her dear Carol, her sweet Rindy, and Harge! Alicia sighed again, for a moment overwhelmed by the enormous significance of the decisions that soon would be made. She felt moved to pray as she usually did, picturing these four vulnerable people. She called them out of the dark passageways they inhabited; the shadowy alcoves; the hidden hollows beneath the stairs. She drew them out into the sunshine. Lifted them up to bathe them in the light. 

Sr. Alicia took a deep breath, holding the image of these four dear ones, seeing them behind her closed eyes. The breeze caressed her cheek, the birds sang their lullabies, the leaves danced in harmony. Therese, Carol, Rindy, Harge. Surrounded by light, held in loving hands.

_Here they are, Lord. I pray Your love upon them. Touch them with the power of transformation. Do the work of your divine alchemy. Grant them the grace of openness and the strength of your Spirit. Bless them, Lord, bless them. I thank you. I thank you. I thank you._

The breeze kissed her cheek. The birds sang their lullabies. The leaves danced in harmony. 

Sr. Alicia prayed in peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With peaceful, loving wishes for all of you.


	5. Shadows Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am your sister and your friend.  
> Never will I cease watching over you.
> 
> St. Therese of Lisieux
> 
> What we think of as our search for God is,  
> in reality, a response to the Divine Lover   
> drawing us to himself. There is never a moment  
> when Divine Love is not at work.
> 
> Ruth Burrows, Essence of Prayer

Abby had flown out of the store, and by the time she arrived at Carol’s apartment, her expertly styled hair was in disarray, a sheen of perspiration shone on her forehead, and her silky blouse was clinging to her upper back in a way that made her cringe. She knocked at the door while trying to catch her breath and push a few errant strands of hair behind her ear. Her thoughts were scattered at best, but if forced to distill them, she’d go with, “ _what am I walking into?”_

Carol opened the door, her head leaning to one side, a blank expression on her face. Abby entered wordlessly. After two decades of friendship, the women often communicated with meaningful glances. It was enough, now. Abby noted her friend’s gray pallor, the strained eyes, the stiff shoulders. She wore a pair of ancient pedal pushers and a white cotton blouse. Her feet were bare, and it seemed to Abby that the only color in her entire appearance was in her polished fingers and toes, painted in that shade of rich red that was so synonymous with Carol.

Abby took a deep breath, grabbing the blond’s hand and pulling her toward the sofa. She sat down near her, reaching to put out the cigarette that burned in an ash tray on the coffee table. _No_ _distractions._ With a pointed look, she said, “Tell me.”

Carol reached for Therese’s note, handing it to Abby with a hand that shook slightly. She found this aggravating, and her jaw muscle clenched. “Please read it.”

The auburn-haired woman did so willingly. Twice. It was very straight-forward, she thought; honest and direct but not unkind. A sudden wave of déjà vu hit her, and she was back in a room of a dim, cold hotel, watching Therese read a letter from Carol. She had looked terribly young and innocent and frightened, and Abby knew a fleeting moment of chagrin for her own reserved demeanor on that terribly hard day. It had been a very hard day for all of them.

Setting the paper aside, she took a measured breath. “Carol, tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Carol’s agitated shake of her head spoke volumes. “I don’t know, Abigail! _‘I don’t know where Therese is’_ seems to say it all, don’t you think?” The words were forced; a hitch in her voice propelled itself to the surface. “She’s not a child, so I think I can assume she’s safe with a friend-- but _Christ_ , this is New York City, and apparently she did leave in the middle of the night!” She seemed to turn even more pale upon hearing her own words. “Christ! What was she thinking?” She practically launched herself from the sofa, pacing to the sliding door in her long strides, wringing and clenching her hands as she went.

Abby watched in a state of uncertainty, then plunged ahead. “Carol, Therese is smart. If she left in the middle of the night, she wouldn’t have gone alone. She probably had a friend come meet her here in a taxi. And she did say she was feeling uneasy and frightened.” She paused, looking at Carol’s stiff, slender form, the top of her head haloed by a slanted ray of sun. “I’m sure she’s fine! She needed space…needed some distance for a bit. That’s all. The two of you are going through this fucking Harge thing again! You’re both over the top with stress.”

Carol turned around. “It’s not like her, you know.” Saying this, she came back to the sofa where she sat and reached for her cigarettes. Abby watched her friend light up, her hands still with a slight quiver. She blew out a blue plume of smoke, eyes narrowed against the sting.

“It’s not like her. Therese is not one to leave.”

Abby’s perfectly sculpted brows arched. She nodded her agreement. “I think you’re right. Maybe this bit with Harge is just too threatening for her. And whatever is happening between the two of you…maybe it’s just too much.”

Carol’s eyes flashed. “Well, maybe it’s too much for me, too!” She looked around, knowing Benny was still with the neighbor, wishing she would have gone to get him first. Her hands itched for the feel of his silky fur. Abby watched her carefully, hurting for this woman who was her dearest, closest friend. _God damn you, Harge!_

“…and then what will I do? No Rindy, no Therese…” The blond could sense tears threatening, and she shot off the sofa again, this time to pace, as if trying to outrun her own life, yapping at her bare heels. There was a long, narrow table against the living room wall, its surface scattered with family photos and mementos. Sr. Alicia had given them a small, framed copy of the Prayer of St. Francis _. Lord,_ _make me an instrument of your peace…_ Yes, but later, not now. Now was not a time for peace.

Carol felt a chill come over her, a disquieting cold, here in the warm apartment on this hot summer day. She turned back to Abby, whose eyes regarded her almost without blinking. 

“Carol, you’re white as a sheet, honey.” Abby rose to her feet, coming to take her friend’s hands in her own. “Your hands are freezing!” With growing concern, she pulled the obviously troubled woman to a dining room chair. “Sit here. I’m going to get you a glass of water.” Abby tried to control her racing mind. _What in the world? What was going on? Is she going to faint?_ She filled two glasses with tap water, rushing back to Carol, who sat obediently at the dining room table and was staring at one of Therese’s photos, which they’d had enlarged, professionally framed, and mounted on the dining room wall. But her blue gray eyes looked haunted, despite the photo’s stunning beauty. _Jesus._

“Here, Carol. Drink this! Maybe you’re dehydrated or something,” she commanded, noting her own racing pulse. The lovely blond obeyed, which only served to make Abby more nervous. The friend she knew would bitch, not comply.

“Do you know I almost killed a man?” Her voice was tremulous. “I held a gun, I pointed it at him. It was loaded and ready to shoot.” Now, Carol shivered. Abby took both their glasses and almost slammed them on the table. Then she reached for the shaking woman and pulled her into her arms. But Carol only continued, “I was so close to pulling that trigger, Abby!” Her voice was a whisper. “My god, I almost killed that detective. I would have been in prison!”

Abby held Carol in the embrace wordlessly, until her shaking ceased. Then she leaned back and looked directly into her eyes. “Carol--yes, you could have killed Tommy Tucker. But you didn’t.” She bit back bile that rose in her throat at the mention of the detective’s name. She despised the man. “And if you ask me,” she continued, “he deserved it! I would have shot him in both kneecaps without thinking twice!”

Abby studied her friend’s face, her haunted eyes, seeking some sign that Carol was edging away from the precipice where she seemed to be teetering. But the blond looked so unnerved, so uncharacteristically raw and uncertain that she felt flummoxed. _I don’t know what to say or do. I don’t know what you need._ She closed her eyes for a moment, but the answer wasn’t written on the backs of her eyelids any more than in her thoughts.

Abby clasped Carol’s hands once again. “Carol, listen to me,” she gently commanded, taking a lungful of air, “what you did to Tommy, with that gun—it was _heroic!_ It was _valiant_ , dammit! That man—at the behest of Harge, no less— _violated_ you and Therese! What he did was an assault! Exploitation. Blackmail.” Abby felt a surge of rage, of white-hot anger against injustice and cruelty and inhumanity. Her eyes watered so profusely she could barely see.

“And you rose up like a lioness. A fucking warrior, if you ask me. Joan of Arc! Harriet Tubman! An Amazon queen! You showed him your strength—and your decency, goddammit! You pointed the gun. But you _didn’t_ shoot.You were better than Tommy Tucker, honey. He slithers, Carol; he’s a snake.” Abby sat back, exhausted by her speech, deeply moved at the grace of the woman in front of her. “And _you_ are a star.”

The seconds ticked by. Perhaps it was the heartbeat of silence that finally seemed to draw Carol from her frozen stupor. Her eyes gradually lost their wan appearance, and the rich, blue gray shade that returned looked as if it had been drawn from a spring of life-giving color. Her cheeks turned pink again, which was to be expected in the warm and humid apartment. She ran her tongue over her lips and rolled her shoulders and neck a few times. And when she reached over to give Abby’s hand a tender squeeze, her own was warm once again.

Carol held her companion’s gaze for a moment, clearing her throat. “Thank you, Abigail.” She breathed deeply, pursing her lips as she exhaled. “I haven’t been myself…obviously.” She pushed soft strands of hair behind one ear, and her long fingers stopped to fiddle with an earring. Then her hands spoke, fluttering as if trying to pull words out of air.

“It’s…alarming to remember…the rage I felt. To hover there, contemplating murder. It terrifies me still.” She expelled a huge breath; a release. Her eyes wandered, taking in this space where she made a home with Therese. “And now…” She paused, shaking her head. “Abby, I would never want to leave Therese. Ever. But lately, this crap with Harge again…and pulling her into it…” She clutched at her heart with another shake of her head. “Maybe to give her freedom from me is more loving, you know?”

Abby grunted, or maybe it was a snort _. “Bullshit!_ Bull-shit, Carol!” She shook her head, auburn hair flying in a wave. “You’ve obviously been scared. And it makes sense. Harge is pulling his crap again and I guess it’s taking you back…” She stopped, gritting her teeth momentarily. “But what the hell are you thinking? You don’t go entertaining these thoughts without talking things through with Therese! _Jesus!”_

Abby rose, grabbed the cigarettes from the coffee table, and proceeded to light one for herself and another for Carol. The two of them had a long history, and they always seemed to do their best problem-solving while smoking. Now, she gazed at her friend, who was inhaling smoke with a look of pure gratitude.

“I don’t know how this all will work out. But it will, Carol! You’ve been running away each night. I see it. Theater and parties and drinking…” She exhaled a large cloud of blue smoke, finding the haze oddly enticing. “Maybe it’s time you face this more directly, talk to Therese and see how she’s feeling…”

Carol nodded, but clearly hesitated. “I know, Abby.” She felt antsy again, agitated, and rose to walk into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. She could feel her anxiety rising. “It would help if I knew where she was.” Busy with her task, her eyes wandered, spotting the _Times_ on the counter. It was yesterday’s edition, still unread. The headlines involved the ongoing conflict in the holy land, Arabs and Jews killing each other. 

As she filled the coffee pot with cold water, Carol heard the oddest voice speak in her head _: Tell the_ _Israelites to move on._ She squinted, shaking her head. God, she was tired and stressed and her head felt fuzzy. But the voice spoke again, and quite clearly: _Tell the Israelites to move on._

“Oh, for the love of god…” She didn’t have the energy for this. 

“What are you mumbling about?” Abby stood in the archway of the door, looking at her companion in confusion.

Carol was about to reply when the phone rang. Her eyes flew to the offending object, so often the bearer of bad news as well as good. It rang again, a jarring tone, a knife through the air.

“Answer that, Carol. It may be Therese.”

The blond picked up the receiver, her hand shaking. “Yes, hello, this is Carol.” That her voice could sound pleasant, measured, cultured, was a thing of wonder to Abby.

“Carol! Hi, it’s Elaine Hartsell. Before I say anything more, I want you to know. Therese is here with me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you who are spending time reading this,  
> allowing me into your world for these moments. It is a sweet gift to have this communion,  
> and I am ever grateful.


	6. Moving Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lazarus--of Greek origin--means "God Has Helped"
> 
> Why, when God's world is so big,  
> did you fall asleep in a prison,  
> of all places?  
> Rumi
> 
> The grief you cry out from  
> draws you toward union.  
> Your pure sadness  
> that wants help  
> is the secret cup.  
> Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.  
> That whining is the connection.  
> There are love dogs  
> no one knows the names of.  
> Give your life  
> to be one of them.  
> Rumi
> 
> All I did was light the candles.  
> Did God find me or did I find God?  
> Hush.  
> The time for words is past.  
> Barbara Brown Taylor

Carol thought her heart would explode in her chest. “Oh, thank God!” she exclaimed, hardly able to manage the tears filling her eyes, the thoughts pummeling her consciousness. “Oh, I’m just so relieved to hear she’s safe! So very glad!” She looked around for a tissue with which to sop her tears and wipe her nose. “And she’s—is she okay?”

“Yes, dear, she is. I’m sure she’s in a deep sleep at the moment. She was soaking wet and exhausted by the time she arrived,” Elaine explained honestly. “But after a warm bath and some food, she slipped off to bed for a nap.”

There was silence, one in which Carol felt she was hurdling thoughts, one after another; leaping, and unable to stay long enough to draw near. As if sensing the younger woman’s discomfort, Elaine ventured forth, her voice soft and soothing. “Carol, I know this kind of thing—it’s anomalous in your relationship.” She paused, and Carol easily imagined the silver-haired woman pondering her words. “Therese said a little bit, but not a lot. Just enough to help me understand the struggles that brought her here.”

Carol’s heartbeat began to thump painfully, banging away until she heard it in her ears like the thunder of an approaching storm. “And—” She stumbled, afraid of what she might hear. “--and does she want me to come there? Or will she come back home soon?”

Elaine cleared her throat. “I’d only be guessing to say one way or the other.” She paused, stumbling through the stilted conversation. “I’m certainly going to encourage her to call you when she’s awake and feels her thoughts are clear enough.” Another pause, more throat clearing. “I do know Therese loves you very much, Carol. My impression is that she needed some distance to make sense of her own inner turmoil.

_Oh, I understand turmoil._ “I understand,” Carol responded, sadness echoing her every word. “You’ll tell her that I’m thinking of her and I’m here? I’m not going anywhere?” _Not like last time._

“Yes, of course!” A pause, again. “And I’ll take really good care of her here.”

“I know. Thank you, Elaine.” Carol rang off and as she did, she felt crushed by melancholy. And anger, which came rushing in to fill any gaps. _This whole goddamn mess is Harge’s fault! Why is he doing this? Doesn’t he care about Rindy? Does the man not have one iota of decency?_

“I’m still here, you know.” Abby’s voice cut into Carol’s unhappy reverie, and the blond looked over at her old friend. She had a patient smile on her pretty, angular face, a look of tolerance in her eyes.

“I know, Abs. I’m sorry.” Carol’s slender shoulders rose and fell as if labored. She shook her head, running a tremulous hand through her already unruly hair. “I’m sorry,” she said again, embarrassed at her self-absorption. “I gather you get the gist of the call…Therese is safe at Elaine’s…she arrived this morning…she’s napping now…she needed some space.” She sighed. “And she’s going to call me soon.”

Abby studied her companion with the critical, knowing eye of an old and trusted friend. Carol looked stressed and spent, her complexion almost bleached, and this caused the other woman to jump to her feet. “Listen,” she commanded, taking charge, “I’m going to fix us a light bite to eat, okay? I’m famished and you look like you could faint on the spot. Then we’ll talk some more.” When Carol looked like she might object, Abby held up a hand. “No, not a word. Go freshen up, wash your hands. This won’t take long.”

Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, Carol cringed. Her skin was completely devoid of color, making the blush she’d applied in the morning look like crude, jagged slashes. Her eyes and lips seemed faded, too, and her hair had turned into a mess of tangles and frizzy curls in the warm, humid apartment. Jesus! She was appalled. She decided to remove the offensive makeup, and after a wash her face looked fresh and enlivened. She ran a comb through her golden blond locks, not even bothering to lament the frizz. After using the commode, Carol felt more equipped to speculate over the myriad thoughts and possibilities fighting for attention in her mind. Yes, much better, she thought as she left the bathroom. More like myself.

Abby was in the kitchen, slicing cheese. She halted her task to glance at Carol with a doleful expression. “Do you people eat? There’s next to nothing in this house.”

Carol smiled. “Yes, Abigail, we eat,” she replied, grabbing plates and utensils. “Lately, though…you know…stress…I’ve been going out…and it’s been so hot…” Her voice faded, and Carol was left with a feeling of having survived another wave. She sighed. Treading water kept you alive, but it was so exhausting after a while. 

Her companion placed a platter on the kitchen table. “Sit. You look better, but still awful. Let’s eat.” She gestured to the sliced cheeses, grapes, cold chicken, and crackers. They filled their plates, munching in silence for a few minutes. Abby was pleased that Carol was eating and refrained from asking the questions volleying around her head.

Eventually, Carol spoke. “Thank you.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry for being this way. It’s—”

“Don’t even go there,” Abby interrupted with her own head shake. “Don’t, Carol.”

Carol’s eyes darkened, the blue gray turning liquid with tears. “You know me.” Her words were halting. “This just isn’t how I am.” She looked around the kitchen table, needing a cigarette. “But Therese can just affect me …and Rindy is like an arrow in my heart and—” The tears spilled over. “--I’m just so tired of this, Abby!”

The other woman watched her with a mixture of sadness and frustration. “Then deal with it.” Abby’s words were abrupt, cutting, and Carol’s eyes flashed with anger. “Deal with it already.” 

“I have been dealing with it! How can you say—”

“No!” Again, the direct, almost commanding words. “You haven’t really, Carol. Ever since you heard from Harge, you’ve been avoiding the issue. You seem to be avoiding time alone in your own home with Therese. You grab a cigarette whenever I ask you how you’re feeling and—” Abby stopped, knowing Carol was in a precarious place and not wanting to go any further.

Carol watched her, irritation rising. “Why are you stopping? Just say what you’re thinking!”

The other woman took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second as she considered her words. “We’ve known each other forever, honey. And I’ve figured out—” She stopped again, feeling as if the neurons in her brain were on a mission, seeking memories and moments and instances, hopping from synapse to synapse until a network was lit up like a radar screen.

“Carol, when you withdraw, it’s not just to protect yourself.” Abby held up a hand, as if to ward off a blow. “I’ve lived through it with you, many times. Enough to see that sometimes—” Amber eyes sought blue gray eyes now, piercing in focus. “I think you withdraw to withhold and manipulate…maybe even punish. And I think it makes you feel powerful…” She hesitated, afraid she was going too far, “…and lately I’m not sure who you’re punishing. Harge? Therese? _Yourself?_ ” She felt unnerved, frightened by her own honesty, and shook her head.

“I don’t want you to lose the love you have, Carol! I don’t want you to fuck things up! You and Therese are _so fortunate.”_

“I’m not fucking anything up, Abby!” Carol almost shouted. “Harge is! And I don’t know what you’re talking about—yes, I pull away, but I don’t punish anyone! And none of this is my fault! Things were great until he told me about maybe moving away with Rindy. Therese and I were fabulous! And now I don’t even know what to do. What to say. Do I fight for this relationship? Do I let Therese go and then assert my parental rights? _I’m Rindy’s mother!_ I can’t bear the thought of not seeing her frequently…” She choked back tears. “Either way, the loss…too much.” The tears fell. “It’s just too much to bear.”

Abby’s heart was breaking for her dearest friend. She scooted her chair closer, reaching for one of her hands, and it was cold despite the warmth of the kitchen. Bringing their foreheads together, she said, “And I won’t let you bear anything alone, Carol. No matter what happens. I know Therese wouldn’t either.” She sighed, and it fell upon the silence like strands of a web. “Talk to her. What the two of you have is special.” Abby leaned back, reaching up to push Carol’s hair from her eyes. 

“Don’t let yourself be victimized by this whole thing! When she calls, talk it all out.”

_________________________________________________

_I had taken Sparky down to the beach for a walk. We skirted the shoreline for a long time, and it felt so wonderful to have the light but steady wind accompanying us. The morning’s torrential rain had passed, leaving a very warm and humid day in its wake. The cool breeze refreshed me body and spirit._

_I sat for a while on a seat I carved out of the warm sand, just taking in the swell of the waves while I watched Sparky play at the water’s edge. The earlier storms had created a wild seascape of blue and green and gray, with a steady splash of white where the waves crashed and foamed on the shore. The repetition was calming, almost hypnotic, and I could feel myself relaxing for the first time in many weeks. Sparky either scampered after the swooping seagulls or charged the waves, barking ferociously. I think it was sitting still that allowed me to feel grateful for the simple pleasure of watching my Newfoundland friend play._

_I also missed Carol and Benny terribly. Nothing ever felt right without her. Every picture was missing a vital image. The thought depressed me all over again; I fought the despondency that had been hovering for weeks. My mind flashed back to the conversation I just had with Sr. Alicia. I could hear her words in snippets; her hope; her faith; her passion. She was actually excited that Carol and I had this “opportunity to heal together.” I was more concerned that our relationship was falling apart and shared none of Alicia’s joyful anticipation._

_I watched the gulls, wishing I could soar and dive that way, with such unencumbered power and freedom. I felt crippled and couldn’t even say why._

_Alicia had been quite confrontive at one point. She asked me to consider whether I was “refusing an invitation.” To do what, I asked. She had rattled off several possibilities: To live? To leave the past in the past? To live in love and not fear? The words had flown off her tongue with all the energy of the rushing, crashing, splashing ocean in front of me._

_“Therese darling, have you heard of Lazarus?” Alicia asked._

_“No.”_

_She chuckled, obviously picking up on the fact that I didn’t care about him, either. “He just popped into my head! I think the Holy Spirit is giving me a nudge for you,” she went on in her vibrant way. “Lazarus was Jesus’s friend, someone he dearly loved. He had two sisters, Mary and Martha, and they desperately wanted Jesus to get to their home to cure Lazarus when he was critically ill._

_“He didn’t arrive until after Lazarus died and was buried.” I kept listening, mostly because Alicia is an excellent storyteller, and her energy felt infectious. “This is the part I want you to think about, darling. Jesus was so heartbroken by his friend’s death that he performed one of his miracles. He had the stones moved away from the entrance to Lazarus’s tomb, and he stood there and issued a command: “Lazarus, come out! Come out!”_

_There was no way I was believing this. Reading my mind, Alicia offered me some advice. “Now Therese, don’t even think about whether this miracle is true or not. My focus isn’t what you believe right now. I want you to ponder the symbolism of this story…and put yourself in that tomb.” She paused, sensing from several hundred miles away that the wheels were turning in my brain. “Are you in a tomb now, dear, in your own life?” She paused again for a few moments, time in which I felt something move inside, as if an arrow had hit some mysterious target deep within me. “If you were being called out of your tomb, would you go? Or would you stay there in the dark for some reason? What would be calling you forth? What would hold you in place?”_

_“Alicia, this is all just too…” My voice gave out on me. I wanted to sleep._

_“Therese darling,” Alicia said in a soft, motherly voice, “just consider asking the Divine to help you with this. No matter how it feels in our tombs, we are never alone.”_

_Dear Alicia. Always my wise, nurturing mother. I loved her with an ache._

_I watched Sparky for a bit longer, amused by his innocence. He was a big, wet, goof, charging at the waves and barking furiously, then retreating to the dry sand, then charging again as if he’d never seen the ocean before. Oh, to be a well-loved Newfie, living on the ocean, playing in the waves, and drying off before a warm fire. What a life!_

_My legs had begun to cramp, and I whistled to my pal, thinking of Benny again. “Come on, Sparky. Time to go, boy. Time to go! Elaine will think we’ve been taken by pirates.” He chugged over to me obediently as I stretched my legs. As we began to walk, I thought of Lazarus._

_______________________________________________

The phone rang once, and she snatched it from its cradle. The thump of her heart was sudden and almost painful. _I’m going to have a goddamn stroke._ “Hello, this is Carol,” she said, trying to keep her hand from shaking.

“Carol, it’s me.” She thought Therese’s voice held a note of fear.

“I was hoping it was…”

“I’m so sorry if I frightened you! I didn’t mean to. I just really needed the space to think, to talk with a friend.” 

“And have you—”

“I’ll ask Elaine to take me to the station in the morning, ok? Is that ok? Can we talk? I mean, _really_ talk?”

Carol felt something begin to shift, like the almost imperceptible movement of an iceberg before it calves. It was both calming and unnerving. She spoke, unable to help herself. “No, sweetheart. I’ll come there and get you!” She couldn’t stand the thought of Therese on the trains for some reason. _Enough is enough._ “I’ll leave early! Just seeing the ocean for a bit will be lovely and--”

“No, you don’t have to! I’m the one who came out here in the first place, I’ll—”

“Stop! Don’t mess with me, Therese. I’m coming there.” Carol was shaking by now, so much so she wondered if she could drive all the way to the far reaches of Long Island. She felt like she was drowning.

“O-kay. Okay! Come get me, Carol. And maybe we’ll have a walk on the beach before we go.”

_________________________________________

“Carol’s coming here. She’s always so proper—she called to tell me. I really want you to come, too, Alicia. Please? Can anyone bring you down for dinner? I’ll ask Carol and Therese to stay, and we can have a nice meal together, just the four of us. It will do us all some good, don’t you think? I just feel like us old girls have to support our younger women as much as we can.” Elaine laughed. “What else are we good for at this point, anyhow?”

“Speak for yourself,” Alicia replied, her mind already working. “Well, I could ask one of the parishioners, I suppose.” She was silent again, for so long that Elaine wondered what her friend was thinking. “And? Will you?”

The old nun had fallen into spontaneous prayer, whispers rising from her heart. “Of course, I will. And Elaine, don’t forget to pray for them tonight. We must pray, above all else…”

Alicia was thinking of Therese as she rang off. She hurt for the young woman, hurt for Carol. She wished she had the power to help them move beyond this hurdle. She wished even more that she could help them open their hearts, to welcome God into this place they had been stuck. She had seen the power of Divine Love at work! She had seen the miracles that could happen when you opened your heart, when you invited the Presence to transform you.

Now, she said a prayer she had written some time ago, one she prayed often:

_When I am the seed; plant me._

_When I am the soil; till me._

_When I am the clay; shape me._

_When I am the dough; knead me._

_When I am the song; sing me._

_When I am the tune; play me._

_When I am the kite; lift me._

_When I am the stone; build me._

_When I am the spice; add me._

_When I am the sojourner; guide me._

_When I am the lover; love me._

_When I am the ashes, spread me._

_When I am the life; transform me._

The candle on Alicia’s prayer table glowed. Her heart was filled with peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the world as it is today, and in the broken, burning, aching, beautiful country where I live,   
> I'm really struggling to put this out there. It seems so irrelevant in the midst of so much struggle.  
> Nonetheless, here it is.  
> I send this off with deepest peace for your hearts.


	7. Chapter 7

Hello AO3 Carol fans,  
I'm sorry this is not an update to this story. It is something far more important. I wanted you to know that a member of our family here has taken her final trip Home.  
Dear, dear HIghlandgirl passed away two days ago, after battling cancer for two years. She was a dear friend; a woman of tremendous depth, humor, and generosity; a lover of the earth, sea, sky, and animals.  
Her life, like yours, was a sacred and holy thing.  
Please remember Highlandgirl's wife and family in your prayers.

With lovingkindness,  
Gracesgirl

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I end by wishing you peace.


End file.
